


A little physicality

by song_of_the_drums



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:12:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4119625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/song_of_the_drums/pseuds/song_of_the_drums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock's unable to cope with his own capabilities, he can only turn to his brother for help. It's not typical, but it works. When confronted with a mental onslaught, all it take is a little physicality to settle back into his skin. Besides, this is so much more fun than a drug relapse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

     Five weeks of strenuous cases without time to rest. Two double homicides and a suicide murder string, not to mention a slew of smaller cases in-between, ranging from stock market fraud to missing persons. Sherlock felt like a toy wound too tightly, to the point the cogs jammed and he kept repeating the same jerky motions over and over again. Sherlock had safety measures in place to stop himself from reaching the fall out, but he’d blown right past them in the tempest storm that was his work.

However… things were getting worse.

Smudge on shoe: Polish didn’t dry: Was in a rush that morning.

Crease in left side of pants: Sits all day: Desk Job.

No tan line from a wedding ring: Newly Married?

              No.

Cheating Husband.

_Stupid! How could you be so utterly stupid? Such a simple thing? How did you miss it? God Sherlock._

_StupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupid_

       Sherlock could barely focus with the way his mind raged, whirling about like a top, faster and faster with each passing second, faster and faster with each passing thought. It was simply too much.

**Too much.**

_Toomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuch_

              It was almost bad enough that Sherlock considered finding a drug dealer for instant relief, but he knew the downsides to that choice. Then again, he didn’t have many more options. But… There was one person he could turn too. Someone who understood, someone who could help. Sherlock’s pride plucked at the idea, but Sherlock knew he had too, or else he might end up breaking for good.

              Swallowing his pride, Sherlock made the choice.

-Mycroft. I need you.- SH  
Such a simple text, but it quite possibly had the power to bring the entire British army down upon a single flat in London city. However, the second qualifier text much changed the meaning.

-Can I meet you at the Diogenes?-SH

-Please?-SH

The pause between the text being read and Mycroft texting back was almost unbearably long.

-Yes of course, Brother. How soon do you need me?-MH

Sherlock let out an audible sigh of relief, shoulders drooping.

-As soon as possible.-SH  
-Please-SH

 

-Of course, Sherlock. I’ll book the blue room, yes?-MH

 

-Yes Please. Thank you.-SH

          Mycroft frowned at his sibling’s texts, the forced politeness worrisome. When Sherlock got like this, it meant he was dangerously close to an unfavorable shut down, or doing something he would regret. Mycroft truly had his brother’s best interest at heart, and finding his own mind akin to Sherlock’s, he could help his younger brother unwind and relax, letting go of his mental process and restart. Sherlock tried so desperately hard to keep himself contained inside the small space of his own skull, but the pressures of the thoughts and deductions with few ways to release it was simply too much. It would tear Sherlock apart from the inside out.

         Sherlock was better with John about, as the doctor kept the genius grounded. It was a favorable situation, as Sherlock did need someone to keep him from hitting the gas as he approached the cliff face. Mycroft admired John’s ability to handle Sherlock on a daily basis, but he knew that John wouldn’t be able to provide the same release for their genius. No, only Mycroft had the duty, and the pleasure, of providing Sherlock with a safe space to let go of his mind and inhabit his physicality for a short time, until he was able to pass out cold.

              Mycroft smiled fondly, before making the phone call to the Diogenes club and proceeded to clear up his schedule so he could leave to care for his younger sibling.

             Sherlock whirled around his flat like a mini rain storm, nearly stumbling as he pushed out the door. All of his usual grace and coordination lost in the face of an overworked mind. He hailed a cab, and even as he gave the man the address, he couldn’t stop it, or turn it off.  He sat in the back of the car, trying to space out and not focus, but it wasn’t helping.

Cabbie: Photo on Dash: Two Children: No Wedding Ring: Single Parent: AA Chip in Visor: Recovering Alcoholic: Pack of Camels in Coat Pocket: Smell of Smoke: Heavy Smoker: Prone to Addiction.

              It all flooded in, one right after the other, and even more as time progressed, but it was worse if he let his attention drift to the outside. The lives of London’s people spilled across Sherlock’s consciousness like graffiti on alley walls. Sherlock felt like his skull was going to split under the pressure of the deductions and the flow of information, moving faster than he could process.

              He was nothing but relived as the car pulled up to the curb. Sherlock paid the man, thanking him softly and slipping out of the car. He took a shaky breath as he headed for the door, his trembling getting worse and worse the closer he got. A mixture of pure euphoric relief and nervous excitement filled him as he opened the door. Cold air brushed over him, inviting him in.

              The cool interior of the club was misleading, with its high-class finishing and luxurious furnishings. The shiny marble beneath his feet only adding to the whole dimension of the club.  Despite the sitting room feel, there was no one waiting or sitting, except for the secretary, whom also doubled as a gate keeper, to the deeper parts of the club.

              “Good Afternoon Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes had already called ahead and made a reservation for the Blue Suit. He regrets to inform you that he will be a little late, but it should be no more than a ten minuet delay. He expects you to be properly waiting.” Her clear smile stood out against dark skin, and Sherlock nodded curtly, not daring to open his mouth and accidentally let spill the information he had picked up from watching her.

              He headed down the hallway to the left, worrying his lower lip with his teeth, hands fiddling with the edges of his jacket. Once he had arrived at the room booked for them, he entered, sighing. Even just being in the familiar room helped ease his mind. The Pavlovian effect of the lush blue bed cover and regal navy wall paper soothing him.

              He hung his jacket up, stripping out of his shirt next. He proceeded to remove trousers and pants as well, folding all of it neatly and setting it on a table next to the door. His shoes wen underneath the table, and Sherlock was nude.

              He moved to the center of the room, the texture of the carpet beneath his feet enough to ground him. It was enough to focus on and let some of the tension leak out of him. He knelt in the center of the room, eyes falling shut and his breath evening out. He would wait for Mycroft, who would come and help him let go. He would be able to reset his mind and resume life a usual.  
              He wasn’t sure how long he waited, his mind playing trick with the time, making it seem much longer than it actually was by filling it with asinine deductions and dredging up memories of all manners of things. There was nothing Sherlock could do to quite it either. It was long enough that Sherlock had gone from still to fidgeting and back again.

There was a creek outside the door.

There was a click of a door knob.

There was the soft breeze of the door opening.

“Sherlock dear, you look like hell.”

 


	2. A reassuring hand.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling Sherlock down. A long, arduous process, if you're not used to it. Good think Mycroft knows just how to handle his baby brother.

Even just the sound of his brother’s voice sent shivers down his spine. His hands clenched where they rested on his thigh, before relaxing, a reflexive defensive action. He felt vulnerable, kneeling in the center of the room while Mycroft stood and watched him in the doorway, but then again, that was the intended purpose of his brother’s pause.  Sherlock let his head bow forwards.

              Mycroft hummed softly, an edge of worry on to his thoughts. Sherlock wasn’t a complacent or compliant submissive, and when he was quite like this, it was dangerous. It meant that his mind was so loud he couldn’t bear to speak, lest he add to the cacophony.

Mycroft padded into the room, divesting himself of his jacket and slipping out of his shoes. He placed his clothes beside Sherlock’s. Walking closer to his brother, he took in the scene.

Tension: Shoulders, back, neck.

Panic: Eyes, lips, hands.

Anticipation: Breath, blush, Member.

              Yes, Sherlock was ready for this, even if he was a little farther gone than Mycroft would have liked to engage in this sort of thing. Sherlock wouldn’t be able to properly gauge his limits in the state he was in. Mycroft would have to be extra careful to make sure that Sherlock came out of this unharmed.  Sherlock would be reluctant to use his safe word, even if he needed it, due to his mental over-stimulation.

              Mycroft tisked, walking in a circle around his kneeling brother’s form.

“Why on earth did you wait so long, Brother Mine?” He asked soothingly, reaching out and combing long fingers through Sherlock’s sweat damp curls. He could feel the way the other was faintly trembling, could feel the tension in the stretch of his neck and the forced stillness.  Mycroft sighed, stroking his hair.

“It’s all fine, Sherlock. I have you now. “   
              He knelt beside the other, pressing a kiss to his brother’s forehead, letting his sentiment leak through before he could resume character. He kissed his temple, and then his ear. “I’ve got you, baby brother,” he murmured, before standing once more, pulling back.

              Mycroft paced to the cabinet beside the large blue bed, opening it and examining the available toys. He removed leather cuffs as well as several toys to play with. He brought them over to a table nearer to Sherlock. He set them out and picked up the cuffs, kneeling beside Sherlock. “Hands.” He urged, taking one hand and slipping the padded leather around the wrist, binding it behind his back.

              Sherlock held perfectly still as Mycroft walked away, only to exhale shakily as Mycroft returned. He was so caught up he couldn’t focus well enough to try and decipher what Mycroft was going to use on him. He felt Mycroft kneel beside him, and leaned into him, desperate for approval and contact. His brother’s hands so gentle on his wrought a sigh from his lips. He even offered his other wrist as he felt the bindings tightening around him. Much like the warm and comforting hands of his sibling, the well-worn padded leather was like a soothing embrace, reassuring him that he was to be taken care of.

              Mycroft hummed happily, dragging fingers along each protruding vertebra from Sherlock’s arched back. He tutted, Sherlock really was too skinny, but there’s nothing he could do about it now. He smoothed his hands over the other’s shoulders, dragging along percaline skin.

“Now, the blindfold.”

              Mycroft slipped the leather over Sherlock’s eyes, tightening it just enough to remain in place. He hummed, leaning in and nibbling on his brother’s ear.

“So good for me Sherlock. Such a good boy. Just a little more.”  
              Ear plugs were placed next, removing but ne more stimulus from Sherlock’s mental turmoil. He grinned, watching the other as he relaxed into the sensory deprivation. Then, as a final step, Mycroft dabbed a bit of his cologne onto his finger and drew it under Sherlock’s nose, sealing off the last sense. Sherlock was left to the mercy of Mycroft and his own mind.

              Sherlock felt helplessly alone, but he knew he could trust his brother with anything, even if it stung his pride to have to beg. This was no exception. He put his full faith in Mycroft to bring him down out of this state, and he was content.

“Mycroft.” He sighed, lovingly, adoringly.

“Don’t worry, Brother. I’ve got you, you silly boy.”

Sherlock couldn’t hear it, but he felt a warmth pass over him, like sun beams. He was loved. 


End file.
